


Teach Him

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, BSDM, Canon-Compliant, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dom!Hewlett, Frottage, In which Hewlett teaches Simcoe a lesson, M/M, Riding Crops, S1E10: The Battle of Setauket, Smut, Sub!Simcoe, Whipping, dirty talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: Major Hewlett is tired of witnessing Captain Simcoe's wanton blood-lust and incapability to follow orders. Obviously, the solution is to whip him into submission.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote some anncoe stuff and posted that too but of course i cant resist the Gays™ .

The blood splatter was still hot and wet on Simcoe’s face as he snarled, chest-down to the floor of the British headquarters of Setauket. He screamed, thrashing against the regulars who held him down. “You deserve what’s coming to you, Oyster Major!”

White rage settled like a blindfold over him. He attacked and spit like a guard-dog turned rabid, and when the Major stuffed a piece of cloth into his mouth, he roared into it. He was quickly gagged, Hewlett’s tightening of the device harsher than necessary. He bucked, heaving against the floor, until his muscles ached beyond the amount he enjoyed.

Finally settling, Simcoe rested his cheek against the dirty floorboards, nostrils flaring as he panted for breath. Hewlett kept a cautious eye on him, watching as the regulars began to let him be. One stood prepared, bayonet pointed in his general direction.

Simcoe relaxed onto the floor, his mind clearing enough to register that, between his body and the floor, he was painfully hard. The fight that ran through his blood always drove his body to react in such a manner, and this was no different. The Captain’s clear blue eyes fixated on the door, trying to peer between boots to see what was happening outside.

When that attempt proved futile, he closed his eyes, ruminating over the sensation of Hewlett near choking him with the gag, the sharp pull of canvas having rubbed the inner corners of his lips raw. He hummed a little in the back of his throat, resisting the urge to cant his hips into the floor. He opened his eyes and cast his gaze towards Hewlett.

The Major looked down and swallowed tightly, looking disquieted by Simcoe’s eyes upon him. He still had the battle ahead to attend to, nevermind the turmoil that Simcoe raised within him. He wanted to beat some sense into the arrogant beast, and he was not himself a man quick to turn to violence. Edmund cast a final, disdainful look upon the man, then turned his attention to the battle.

 ***

Simcoe’s arms had been aching for so long that he no longer felt them. He was sure they were still attached to the rafters of Ms. Strong’s tavern’s basement, but no sensation reached him from them. His neck was hurting something awful as well, bowed as it was. He hung limply against his restraints, knees weak, his eyes closed. This was not a sign of submission to his captors, no, just a symbol of his exhaustion.

Shortly after the completion of the battle, he was transferred to the cellar of the Strong Tavern, strung up, and left there until his accompaniment was prepared to take him to Philadelphia for his court-martial. The gag in his mouth had him a little nauseous, and he was light-headed from lack of water. It had been at least a day, now. He briefly wondered if the Oyster Major intended to leave him here to rot down to nothingness, then dismissed the thought.

No, Hewlett wasn’t a strong enough man for such brutality.

Simcoe’s lips stretched into a wry smile around the canvas in his mouth. The door to the cellar burst open, and his head snapped up, cold blue eyes squinting into the flood of light.

Hewlett approached him, a frown written sternly across his lips. Simcoe grinned as broadly as he could. The Major stopped short just a pace away. Simcoe’s eyes fluttered down to the flask in his hand. He was thirsty, after all.

The Major inspected him, calculating. The Captain’s eyes flickered away from the flask in one of the Major’s hands to the riding crop in the other. He turned his gaze upward, meeting Hewlett’s solidly. Hewlett’s face twitched a little, and he silently reached up and around Simcoe’s head, undoing the clasp of his makeshift gag and pulling it out.

Simcoe felt as if he had to vomit, and he turned his face aside, swallowing desperately for a long moment. When his stomach settled, he stayed silent, and Hewlett presented him the flask, cap unscrewed. The Major tutted as Simcoe gulped the proffered water down eagerly.

“Go slowly,” Hewlett said, not withdrawing the flask. “You’ll bring it back up or drown yourself.”

Simcoe ignored him and drained the flask. Hewlett sighed and capped it, then slipped it into his jacket pocket. Simcoe glanced at the riding crop again, a dribble of water running down his chin. Hewlett took a step back, than slipped his jacket off and draped it overtop an errant barrel.

The Captain watched this happening with great interest. Hewlett rolled his head on his shoulders, cracking his neck, then stepped closer, stood on his toes, and with a clever slip of his knife, let Simcoe’s arms fall. Simcoe’s knees buckled out from beneath him and he sank to the floor in a quick, undignified heap. He wasn’t weak from his ordeal, but his limbs were asleep.

Hewlett reached down and grasped Simcoe by the scruff of his neck, hauling him up in a rare show of bodily force, and maneuvering him over a barrel as he had tossed his jacket moments previous. The wind knocked out of him from the shove Hewlett had given him, Simcoe slumped a little, chest heaving. His legs locked and he stayed up, resting his arms cross the barrel and not bothering to look back at Hewlett. He felt no fear.

“You await court-martial, Captain, but I find myself with the responsibility, as your commanding officer, to teach you a lesson of respect.” The Major had clearly rehearsed this line, his voice clipped and certain as it sounded in Simcoe’s ears.

The Captain paused in his lazy thoughts. Ah, so the good Oyster Major did have some bite left to his bark. His mind recalled the riding crop insistently, and his cock twitched in interest. He hadn’t gone so far as to presume the Major’s sensibilities regarding pretty young officers such as himself, but Simcoe wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

He smirked.

He heard the snap of the crop before he felt the pain that caused the sound, and his hips twitched forward against the barrel, away from the sting of the blow. His smirk slipped from his face. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with dehydration and misuse.

“Well, then, Major, get to it.”

The Major rounded the barrel with a length of rope, much to Simcoe’s displeasure, and bound his hands to the nearest post supporting the rafters above them. He tested the bonds a little, eyes following Hewlett’s every move, then settled a little more comfortably against the barrel.

Hewlett’s hands were professional as they reached round Simcoe’s waist and undid the laces of his breeches. His hands were even more strict as they yanked Simcoe’s breeches down to his knees. Simcoe hissed at the cool cellar air upon his backside, and he turned to rest his cheek upon the barrel’s surface, watching what he could out of the corners of his eyes.

“Spread your legs.” Hewlett’s voice was still confident, and it sent a little thrill up the Captain’s spine.

He did not obey the command.

Several long seconds passed, and the pregnant pause gave way to Hewlett shoving his leg between Simcoe’s and forcibly spreading his thighs. Simcoe bit down on his lower lip when the Major withdrew, but kept his legs spread. He rose up a little onto his toes, arching his back, and the crop whistled through the air to crack against his ass.

Simcoe tasted copper and his eyes snapped shut, the pain sending a line of heat directly to pool in his stomach. Hewlett’s voice drew him back from the hazy space his mind had gone to, directing him.

“You will count my strikes aloud to me. You have earned many more than I see fit to give, so I shall provide twenty. If you misbehave, or lose count, we will start again. You will learn your place.”

 The Captain drew his fists together and entwined his fingers with the rope that bound him. Pain was easier to take when a man could cling to something.

“Oh, and, do be quiet. We wouldn’t want Ms. Strong or the others to hear this little lesson, would we?”

The first strike hit hard, right where Simcoe sat, and the Captain deepened the wound on his lip by biting down there again. He heard his own voice, lofty and thin as always, say, “One.”

The second strike hit a little higher, but hit harder. Simcoe said, “Two.”

The third strike hit lower than both previous blows, and harder still. “Three.”

By six, Simcoe was leaking against the side of the barrel, his face flushed ruddy in color and his cock weeping for attention. A moan caught in his throat when he gasped out, “Seven,” and he was certain Hewlett knew the affect this punishment was having on him.

Hewlett began to speak. “You’re no more than a dog, Simcoe. Your master’s chain has grown too long, and you’ve gotten away with mauling too many people. Well, I say it is high time to reign you in. You are a savage beast,” He punctuated the word savage with a sharp hit, “and I will see to it that this rabid attitude is beaten from you.”

Simcoe moaned unabashedly and hissed, “Eight.”

Hewlett hit him again, the hardest yet, leaning all of his force into the blow. Simcoe’s thighs, dotted red and blooming purple with angry welts, shook. “Nine.”

They reached fourteen before Hewlett spoke again. Simcoe had long since forgotten to stifle his pleasure whines. “You would make a pretty whore, you know. That particular position may suit you better than any of command.” Simcoe’s cock hurt.

“Fifteen.”

“I think, actually, that I should have the men you’ve wronged _fuck_ this insolence out of you.”

“Sixteen!”

“But you’d like that, wouldn’t you, you filthy harlot?”

“ _Seventeen_!”

“I would have done this a long time ago, had I known you would have bent so quickly to my whims.”

“Eighteen!”

The crop rested lightly upon the untouched small of Simcoe’s lower back, where his shirt had ridden up, just between the coattails of his jacket. It glided down, irritating tender flesh, and came to a stop just before Simcoe’s cheeks. The Captain whined, high in his throat, and tipped his hips back.

The crop slipped between his thighs, and he hissed again, fingers clenching and unclenching in the rope he had two fists of. Hewlett stayed still and silent until Simcoe was practically squirming. Then, the crop’s touch increased in pressure and drew a hot line down to Simcoe’s length. The Captain positively mewled.

The smack that came to the back of his thigh was unexpected, and Simcoe bit into his lip again. He thought blood surely ran down his chin at this point. He tasted it, and it made his head swim almost as much as the pleasure from being beaten did. He swallowed tightly.

“What was that?”

Hewlett’s voice was quiet, but dangerous, and Simcoe could hardly manage a “Mnh?” in response.

“I asked,” Hewlett drew the word out and tapped Simcoe’s inner thigh lightly to spread his legs more, than drew the crop in a slow circle there, “what was that?”

Simcoe stumbled over his thoughts, mouth parched, all his attention focused on the arousal coursing through him. “You’re going to have to be a little more clear, Ma-”

The smack came harshly to the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to his cock, and Simcoe recoiled, drawing his legs together. The crop was suddenly replaced by two gloved hands opening his legs again, and the shorter man stood between them.

“I told you when we began, if you lost count, we would start over.”

Simcoe felt a bubble of panic rise in his chest. It wasn’t battle, nor espionage, nor audience with his superiors that drew fear into him. No, it was the thought of being left hot and unattended. He whimpered, and Hewlett’s open palm came down upon his rear.

Simcoe keened at the feel of leather on him, tossing his head back wildly. Hewlett’s second hand came forward to grab a handful of Simcoe’s curly ginger hair, his dress wig having been long discarded. When the Major drew his head back, Simcoe’s back arched, his legs shifting apart further as he accommodated Hewlett between them. The Major held him there, his scalp stinging freshly.

The Captain rolled his hips against the harsh wood of the barrel, then winced at the sensation. “You’re hardly anything more than an insolent babe.” Hewlett said, voice rough from an unidentifiable cause.

The cause was quickly discovered, Simcoe thought absentmindedly, as Hewlett pressed himself to Simcoe’s back and _rutted_ against him. Simcoe groaned lowly, eyes rolling back into his head with pleasure. The fabric of Hewlett’s breeches did nothing to conceal his hard cock between Simcoe’s thighs, and the Major growled softly in return to Simcoe’s little noise.

Fabric rustled, and Hewlett made quick work of freeing himself. Simcoe twisted his head to goad him, and Hewlett promptly smacked him again in response. His cock dragged painfully slow across his entrance, and Simcoe gritted his teeth, shifting his hips back to no avail.

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t stoop so low as to fuck you, Captain Simcoe. I reserve that pleasure for the fairer of sexes. No, you’ll take it like a dog.” And then Hewlett was grinding there against him in slow, controlled thrusts, and Simcoe was pressing back just as eagerly.

He would take it like a dog. He would take everything Hewlett was offering, and then, after his court-martial, he would come back and take the rest of what Hewlett had. He smiled viciously at that thought, nails digging crescent moons into his palms as he rolled his hips.

The Major’s breath puffed hot across his back, and a tender kiss caught him off guard when it landed at the place where Simcoe’s neck joined his shoulder. The kiss was immediately replaced by a harsh bite, and Simcoe muffled a cry by tucking his face to the barrel as his skin broke beneath Hewlett’s teeth.

“You – damned – whore – fuck -” Hewlett’s voice broke on the last syllable, and he came in a hot trail between Simcoe’s legs.

Simcoe nearly sobbed with desperation, but then, two fingers were being jammed into his mouth, and shaking, he suckled at them, wetting them with his both his tongue and the blood that pooled in his mouth. The fingers withdrew as quickly as they came, and pressed in quick succession within him.

The debauched Captain welcomed the burn of the intrusion, and his face went slack as Hewlett twisted them once, twice, than _dragged_ them across his sweet spot. Simcoe didn’t feel his orgasm until it was finished with him, and he collapsed, boneless, over the barrel, panting.

Hewlett’s fingers stroked over that spot within him again, and Simcoe trembled under the overstimulation, gasping. The Major finally withdrew his fingers, then patted Simcoe on the ass, inspecting the flowering bruises he’d left there.

“Twenty.” Simcoe mumbled, still shaking.

Hewlett’s laugh surprised the both of them. When Simcoe could brace his legs under him and stand, the Major had already righted himself, looking once again like a respectable gentleman. He tugged Simcoe’s breeches back up and laced them there, then drew him back to where he had first been tied.

“Standing, I think, will be a relief from your punishment.”

Simcoe nodded a little dumbly as Hewlett bound his arms again to the rafters. His forearms had been scraped raw through his clothes on the rough grain of the barrel, as had the skin of his stomach.

“I hope you have learned a lesson from this encounter, Captain Simcoe.” Hewlett said formally, smoothing the front of his jacket down and inspecting the other.

Simcoe could feel the Major’s still warm cum dripping down his thigh.

“I think I quite have, Major.”

With that, Hewlett gave him a curt nod and turned to take his leave. Simcoe watched him go through the haze of his post-coital bliss. Perhaps he ought to act up, more often.


End file.
